Shen Xuanrou frowned slightly, appearing somewhat tempted by the Daoist's proposal.
The Judge of Hell had also spoken to her of how the cycles of heavenly retribution and karmic causes and effects have their own set numbers, seemingly telling her that all things should follow their natural course, and when faced with destiny, one should act in accordance with it rather than force what is not meant to be.
Thus, Shen Xuanrou agreed to the wager, took off the Butterfly Love Flower Hairpin from her head, and gave it to the Daoist.
She then spoke with the Daoist about matters that occurred before their paths crossed, talk that left the Daoist grinding his teeth in frustration.
Seeing that daybreak was approaching, Shen Xuanrou parted ways with the Daoist. Taking the hairpin, the Daoist returned to the master's household, only to find that the master of the house had already packed his luggage, ready to flee for his life at a moment's notice.
As soon as the Daoist returned, the household members rushed up to him to ask how it went.
The Daoist produced the hairpin and laughed heartily, saying, "It was merely a solitary wandering ghost, nothing to worry about!"
At first, the household was skeptical, but once the main hall was unlocked and the eldest son was called out to identify it, the son instantly recognized the jade hairpin as the very one Shen Xuanrou had been wearing on her head the day she committed suicide. He hurriedly dropped to his knees and loudly praised the immortal's divine might.
Overjoyed, the master of the house immediately arranged for gold, silver, and valuables to be presented to him, and prepared to host a banquet in his honor. The eldest son was even more attentive, running about at his beck and call, wishing nothing more than to take the Daoist as his godfather.
The Daoist declined all of it, taking only ten taels of silver under the pretext of severing karmic ties. Then, changing back into his previous tattered Daoist robe, he hoisted his Peach Wood Sword over his shoulder, grabbed his wine gourd, and strode out toward the heavens.
With this matter settled, the master's household was filled with joy and celebration. They slaughtered cattle and sheep to feast the surrounding neighbors, and set up a porridge stall to widely bestow charitable deeds.
This celebration continued for six or seven days before gradually subsiding, as if everything had returned to its usual routine.
Later on, the Daoist found Shen Xuanrou, explaining that these past few days he had been helping her suppress her ferocious nature so she wouldn't break the terms of the wager.
Although Shen Xuanrou had an intense craving for flesh and blood, she managed to endure it and refused the Daoist's help. Thus, the human and the ghost simply sat idly in the desolate countryside, counting down the days.
On the seventh day, a fine, drizzling rain began to fall from the sky. The Daoist abruptly announced that the time had come, found an earthen mound, cleaned himself up, and emerged transformed into the appearance of a monk.
He managed to procure a gray hempen monk's robe from goodness knows where, had Shen Xuanrou put it on, and told her that it would temporarily shield her from the sunlight, inviting her to come along and watch a show.
Curious, yet feeling she had nothing left to tie her down and trusting that the Daoist would not deceive her, Shen Xuanrou slipped into the monk's robe and followed the Daoist away.
My hometown is situated in the Jiangnan region, known since ancient times as the "Land of Water." In this place during early spring, the fine rain falls like threads and the thin mist curls like smoke. Throughout various dynasties, countless poets have taken the beautiful scenery of Jiangnan's misty rain as a theme to compose celebrated and widely recited verses.
Once this drizzle started, the affairs within the master's household were temporarily put on hold. Believing that the trouble had passed and that it was now simply a matter of accumulating hidden merits in the future, the eldest son took two servants and went out to seek the sights.
In his search, he reached the riverbank and suddenly caught sight of a fishing boat drifting across the mist-shrouded river.
On that boat, a slender young woman dressed in plain clothes stood at the bow, poling with a bamboo rod and humming a little tune as she passed under the bridge.
Nourished by the local soil and waters, Jiangnan women are truly clever, nimble, exquisite, and meticulous, refreshing the heart and exuding a lingering fragrance like tender green leaves moistened with dew—fresh in color, captivating the gaze long after they pass.
Smitten at the sight, the eldest son completely ignored his servants' dissuasion and resolutely jumped onto the fishing boat to strike up a conversation with the young woman.
The young son was naturally handsome to begin with, and having survived this ordeal, all his arrogance and bluster were entirely gone. He appeared reserved, subtle, letting his feelings arise from emotion yet stopping short of impropriety—the very picture of a refined young gentleman.
Accustomed to mingling in the marketplace, when had the fisherwoman ever encountered such a handsome and courteous young master? Naturally, she was charmed at first sight, and they conversed most happily.
Two days passed in this manner. On the third day, just as the eldest son was about to head out, a servant ran in holding a slip of paper.
On the note was written: "My father is gravely ill and I have returned. Young Master, do not fret."
Seizing the servant by the collar, the eldest son demanded to know where the fisherwoman had gone. The servant could only reply that after handing over the note, she had punted her boat westward.
Immediately, the eldest son ordered his men to prepare a fast boat so he could set out, only to run squarely into the master of the house.
When the master asked the reason and perceived that his son seemed genuinely repentant and deeply attached to the fisherwoman, he thought that since the two of them felt mutual affection, this was a heaven-sent joyous occasion. He offered to find one or two experienced fishermen to escort him in his search for the girl.
Burning with impatience, the eldest son refused his father's help and set off aboard the fast boat prepared by the servant.
He pursued westward along the river channel for a full day without catching a glimpse of the fisherwoman, continuing until the sun sank below the western horizon and dusk began to fall, at which point he finally stopped.
Only upon stopping did they notice that the surrounding area was utterly desolate and uninhabited; they had no idea where they were.
Volunteering his services, the servant moored the boat to the bank, saying they would find some locals for food tonight, rest up, and resume their journey tomorrow, assuring him that with a bit of quickness, they would surely catch up to the fisherwoman by the next day.
Agreeing to this, the eldest son waited inside the cabin while the servant moored the boat and went off to look for people, vanishing from sight within moments.
Half-asleep, the eldest son drifted off. When he finally woke and poked his head out of the cabin, he found the surroundings pitch-black and silent, with not a single star visible in the sky. The rope tethered to the tree on the bank had somehow slipped away, and the boat had drifted out to the middle of the river.
Unskilled in swimming and unable to row, the eldest son could not return to the shore. Feeling the bleak winds howling, he paced back and forth across the bow to warm himself, inwardly cursing the servant.
Right at that moment, a gust of cold wind blew past. Feeling chilled, the eldest son picked up his pace, but the boat was small and light; with one heavy step down, it unexpectedly capsized.
Plunging headfirst into the water, the eldest son struck a boulder at the riverbed, instantly splitting his head open and staining the river surface with blooming flowers of blood.
He struggled frantically, but the river water was bone-chilling, and the heavy blow left him dizzy and disoriented. Soon, cramps seized his limbs and his strength failed him. He floated face up on the river surface, transformed into a bloated corpse.
At this exact moment, exactly one quarter-hour remained until the ten-day limit of the wager.
Shen Xuanrou and the Daoist had watched every single event of these past three days unfold before their eyes.
The Daoist intoned a loud Buddhist phrase and smiled at Shen Xuanrou, saying that she had lost.
Finding it somewhat hard to believe—yet knowing that the Daoist had stayed by her side all these days without any opportunity to tamper with events—Shen Xuanrou looked upon the eldest son who had truly drowned in the water and said with bitter reluctance, "Daoist Priest, since you already foresaw that he was fated to suffer this calamity, why did you not save him?"
Pointing to himself, the Daoist grinned broadly and replied that he was no longer a Daoist priest, but a monk. Monks do not concern themselves with predestined fate and karma; the Buddha only guides those with a pre-existing affinity. Amitabha.
With that, he fished out the tattered Daoist robe, draped it over his shoulders, and mockingly chanted in a loud voice, "Supreme Taiyi the Deliverer of Sufferings, this disciple is not refusing to render aid when seeing someone perish, but truly lacks the ability to do so!"